#LastLineFirst – A #FlashFiction Challenge: Week 9

last line firstIt’s Monday, which means it must be time for another round of Last Line First!

Thank you to everyone who participated last week. It’s been a delight to read your stories. Welcome to all the new folk who joined us too. I hope you’re enjoying the challenge and finding it helpful.

Your last line prompt this week is from Strength by Nick Black. I picked it because there’s no obvious setting, character, tense or point of view, so your possibilities are endless! You can take this in myriad different directions …

As always, you have until midnight on Sunday to comment on this post with your ≤200 word flash-fictions. Remember: you can tweak the prompt however you see fit. For a full run-down of the rules and easy access to previous challenges and their stories visit this page.

So, here’s your new first line:

Feather weight champion of the world.

Happy Flashing!

Share Button

Liked this post? Follow this blog to get more. 

6 thoughts on “#LastLineFirst – A #FlashFiction Challenge: Week 9

  1. 200 words

    Praise Enough

    Feather weight champion of the world. The first female feather weight champion of the world.

    The master of ceremonies grabbed my hand and raised it, shaking it as though he was celebrating his own victory, not mine. I let him do it, too dazed to pull away. World champion. The first woman to ever fight her way to the top. My name would be on the newly-minted ‘women’s feather weight division’ trophy forever.

    In some obscure way, my victory in the ring seemed to be important in the grand scheme of things. A step in the right direction for women’s rights and all that. It was probably a result of the concussion I knew I had, but the welling emotion in my chest and tears in my eyes told me I’d done something momentous.

    Screaming from the crowd jarred me out of my disjointed self-congratulations. The MC shook my hand again, yelling something in my ear. The buzzing in my head distorted the words but through the throng outside the ring I saw my mother.

    She wasn’t waving and screaming – she’d never do that. But she smiled and nodded. I’d done good. That was praise enough for me.

  2. Nickname (199 Words)

    Feather weight champion of the world. That was the nickname I was given a long time ago. It was more of an insult then a nickname, but it stuck none the less. That’s just what happens when you’re this skinny; weak… You end up being the prime person for those that think they are better then you to pick on… An easy target, so to speak.

    How do you deal with something like that? It can easily ruin you for life. It makes you think about people differently; relate to them differently; treat them differently… Even those closest to you. It impacts relationships with friends and family; all of those that you love. Not always in a negative way mind you, but I guess you just end up trying too hard to be noticed. Wanting more than ever for people to like you; to accept you… And if they do, not actually understanding why.

    And yet you feel like nothing that you ever do is good enough…that people always have a hidden agenda, and when you do try to let go, you get stung, cos sometimes they do.

    Sometimes I wonder… If I left tomorrow, would anyone even know?

  3. Memories, regrets and missed possibilities
    (198 Words)

    Feather weight champion of the world!

    That’s what my grandfather would say as he hoisted me into the air, before wrestling me back down to the ground.

    I remember warm summer nights kicking the footy in his front yard, and cold winter nights watching videos of his favourite sporting moments. He had a sort of twinkle in his eye as he reminisced about the “good old days”; his days on the field.
    It was hard on him when we moved away. Harder, still, that we only visited once or twice a year. I don’t remember missing him at the time, since I had a new school and new friends – a whole new life. Thinking back, I mourn for what I probably missed out on; the days and years lost spread like a black hole inside of me.

    Looking at his picture now, I feel emptiness and a deep regret of never going on that elusive fishing trip, or introducing him to my future-husband – a professional footballer – he’d be so proud!

    All I have of him now are the memories, and the regret of possibilities that will never come to pass. Oh, how I miss him, now.

Comments are closed.